Who would want to gather
The ripped pages of my heart
Drowned in pain and solitude
Like lying in a rusted cart

Faded ink, tell half stories
Dirt patches with blurred writing
Torn edges, blood stains
Emotions died around fighting

A drought in the tear glands
Unorganized memories scattered
A lifeless body with no hope
None to them, I ever mattered

My bed, like an open grave
The four corners seem to sink
My brain has stopped working
My eyes won't even blink

But there is still a tiny light
Far, that I can see too well
Perhaps my hope is slowly reviving
From the time I blindly fell...


©sim